


Just a girl, a deadly little girl

by Inktastic1711



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comfort Food, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 08:11:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17321237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inktastic1711/pseuds/Inktastic1711
Summary: Bucky and Natasha reveal a bit of their history to Steve, and he learns it is sweeter than he expected.Inspired by some fresh baked pinwheel rugelach from a friend.





	Just a girl, a deadly little girl

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything non-academic in several years, so go easy on me?  
> This is the first in a few planned snippets I have floating about my head.

The scent of fresh baked goods wafts through the apartment when Steve enters, and he smiles at the sight of a stack of swirled pastries when he reaches the kitchen. Bucky’s hand reaches out and smacks his hand away from the plate before he can reach, “They’re not for you, I’m having company.”

“Who’s coming over? And there’s a lot of ‘em, Buck,” Steve whines.

“Natalia,” he replies, “I’ve waited too long, but here goes. I hope these are still her favorite,” Steve quirks an eyebrow, “Look, Steve, babydoll, she’s coming over, and we… we have a history, and I want you to stick around, but it might get weird, but I think you should be here, unless she asks you to leave, ok?”

“Yeah, ok, course,” Steve leans over and kisses Bucky’s shoulder. There’s a knock at the front door and they separate. Bucky opens the door to Natasha, who nods and steps inside. Her body language is neutral in a way that would blend in anywhere else, but here, Steve can tell it’s deliberate. 

Bucky murmurs something to her in Russian and she sits down on the brown leather sofa, softening slightly. “I made rugelach, apricot?” he starts, bringing the plate of swirled, sticky pastries over to the coffee table.

“You- you do remember then,” she says, nearly a whisper. 

“Of course I remember, my little fox, but tell me if I got them right?” Natasha slowly reaches out and takes one, nibbling at the edge, and then she melts. Steve reckons it’s more a memory than a testament to Bucky’s culinary skill, although he is pretty good around the kitchen. 

“They’re perfect, Yasha, always perfect,” and then tears are falling down her face and Bucky is around her in an instant, pulling her into his lap and kissing her hair as she sobs in his arms. He alternates sweet nothings between Russian and English, and Steve isn’t sure if it’s for his own benefit or if Bucky is even aware that he’s doing it, but Bucky continues to rock and hold Natasha until finally she stills. 

“I couldn’t be prouder of you, my little one, you survived, and better, and you know, I pray to whatever god there might be that you know, I never would have left you by choice, my darling Natalia, never, but I knew you could survive,” Bucky is cupping her cheek in his now, looking into her eyes, and it all feels intensely intimate to Steve who is watching from the doorway of the kitchen, “They took me away because they thought I loved you too much, you know that?” Natasha nods and hiccups, “But you remember what happens when a man touches something that is your Yasha’s?”

“He doesn’t live to touch it twice,” she replies dutifully.

“That’s right, little fox,” and he kisses her forehead, “And what happens to the man to tries to catch the fox?”

“I outfox him!” 

“Yes! And you did! Look at you, my little American fox, now,” Natasha lays her head on his shoulder and he rocks her gently again, “Steve, can you bring the tea in? I think we need to tell Steve some stories, if you up for it, little one?” They talk softly in Russian again while Steve fusses with the teapot and mugs. He has a set of tea cups in pink tinted depression glass that he got at an antique dealer, because they looked so much like his mother’s set, and a silver plated tray to carry it all that would have made Sarah Rogers beam with pride. Steve may not be quite sure what to make of the scene in his living room, but he knows how to serve tea to guests. 

“You can tell me as little or as much as you want, but please tell me about the pastry?” Steve says as he sits down across from them, and Natasha giggles.

“It’s good! They used to be a treat, when I was little, and apricot was my favorite,” she replies and pushes one into the palm of Steve’s larger hand. From what he knows, treats were fewer and even more far between in her childhood than his own, but he realizes how little he knows, when Bucky starts talking.

“I don’t know if I actually ever baked them myself, but I thought about it long enough that I figured I must try the recipe in my head. But yes, we would get these when practice was going especially well, or later, for missions well done,” And Steve nods along, like it’s perfectly normal for his husband to explain how he rewarded the Black Widow’s first successful missions with sweets, and well, he guesses it is their normal, after everything. And they are good. A bit sticky, but the dough melts in his mouth and there are little walnuts chopped finely in the filling. They taste like something from his own time, even if they aren’t, sweet, but not sickeningly so like so many things today.

“Yasha was my trainer, you know, from the time I was just dancing,” Steve perks up now, bringing himself back from the pastry to listen to Natasha. She speaks lightly, and something is different, as though she's in a younger place.

“Yeah, you were a tiny, terrifying ballerina, the whole lot of you, but you were my favorite,” he says fondly, “Oh, I don’t think I’ve ever told either of you this… how I ended up teaching there,”

“No, not to me,” says Steve slowly.  
“Mmm, you told me you were sent to make sure your little fox was the most clever,” Natasha says, “I, I think maybe you tried to spare me some of it,” she trails off.

“I did, but this story, this is a bit funny, looking back,” Steve nods, cautiously, Bucky doesn’t share stories too often, and he is afraid to break the spell that seems to have been cast over their living room, “Ok, so I had been on a mission for at least a month or so straight with these 3 guys, Russians, Hydra, but I’d been out of cryo long enough that they just treated me like another comrade,” Bucky continues, his face lit up like he’s about to tell any humorous story about battle buddies, like the next line is going to be about saving Steve from total embarrassment in front of some dame, “And anyway, I guess I still cleaned up alright, and had enough personality coming through that these guys started sending me to line up for our rations or to the market, because I tended to sweet talk us into to little extras,” and Steve grins, because of course Bucky would have figured out how to sweet talk in Russian, “So we’re done with our real job, but we’ve got another night before we’re going to be sent back to base, and they ask me if I can dance, and I tell them of course I can dance. So one of the guys, he says, Soldat! Your mission is to get us all laid tonight. Pretty girls for everyone for a job well done!” Steve is laughing now.

“He gave you actual orders to get him laid?”

“I mean, that wasn’t the slang, but yeah, and that’s the crazy thing, he phrased it as mission imperative, whether he realized it or not, and I was going to get them all a dame that evening,” Bucky laughs, like it’s the funniest thing to have been brainwashed into treating an order to act as wingman as seriously as an order to kill, but maybe it is, “So we all get cleaned up, and go out to this big dance, and I start sweet talking all these women and dancing with them, but as soon as they’re swooning, I just would drop them on one of the guys in the crew. Which was probably funny enough, but I hadn’t learned a new dance since the forties, so I was teaching all these Russian girls to swing with me. And I think that was what really did it, the dance lessons,”

“You mean you taught them better than you ever taught me?” Steve asks laughing.

“Well, I don’t think any of these gals had two left feet or half your stubbornness, but yeah, that I could teach them and it worked, I danced probably two songs with each of them, and by the end they were moving easy, following me. And everyone had a pretty girl in their bed that night.”

“Did you get to take one home, too, then?” Steve asks.

“I, I did, but I don’t think I knew quite what to do with her,” Bucky is quieter now, “I think I just let her hold me and stay warm that night,” he finishes, “Anyway, next thing I know they’ve deposited me at this, this assassin academy with seven tiny ballerinas to train in sharp shooting and knife throwing.”

“Yes, and do you remember the first thing I did when I met you, Yasha?” Natasha asks smiling.  
“You struck me in the chest with a slingshot and said you already knew everything, and that I was much too big to ever be stealthy,” he laughs and kisses her temple, and Steve wouldn’t have believed it if it weren’t for his own eyes, but Natasha pouts, still seated in Bucky’s lap. 

They drink tea, and gradually a picture appears to Steve, of Bucky, or Yasha then, teaching dangerous skills to already dangerous little girls, and developing affection for the woman he now knows as Natasha. He took her on her first kill mission at thirteen. As insurance that the target would be hit. It was. And then they continued to work together, until those above decided their closeness was becoming a liability, when Bucky had killed a handler for getting too friendly with Natasha. 

“Oh, I don’t think that was actually the first one, but I think the first guy I just, ya know, maimed," he says shrugging, "And we never saw him again, but that next one, when I actually killed him, and god he was a greasy type too, you’d have started a fight with him, Stevie, I swear, anyway I had this massive metal hand and all I had to do was take him by the throat and he was done,” he pauses here, “But it was probably pretty shocking that I passed through all my reprogramming to the point that I could hurt a handler like that, I know why my brain got extra scrambled for my next few assignments.”

They continue talking, and Natasha has curled up on the sofa with her head laying on Bucky’s lap as he strokes her hair, and it’s just Steve and Bucky talking softly now.

“So, you two, were…” Steve starts to ask, still not entirely sure of the relationship that has been revealed to him.

“Nah, Stevie, she was a little girl. I was her teacher mostly, until it was more. And then, it wasn't ever romantic, she was just my little girl. She… I don’t think there was ever anyone else who took care of her, not with affection, ya know? I just wanted to protect her, even if that meant making her as deadly as I could,” Bucky swallowed, “Look, I know it’s kind of fucked up, but at the time, I could train her, make her smarter, better, maybe she’d be ok,”

“Shh, hey, Buck, it’s ok. I get it, I think. I mean yeah it’s fucked, it all is, but you showed each other kindness in a place that was cruel, and I think, I think I’m real glad to know you could do that for each other, for a little while at least,” Steve says, reaching over and taking Bucky’s hand in his. Bucky squeezes back and glances at the clock on the wall and back down to the sleeping redhead in his lap.

“Mmm, whatcha doing, Yasha?” Natasha asks sleepily as Bucky carries her into the spare bedroom.

“Just putting you to bed, little one. Stay the night, ok? For me?” He pulls back the quilt, and slides off Natasha’s shoes and jacket before tucking her in.

“Ok, Yasha,” she says without lifting her head from the pillow, “Vareniki and tea for breakfast?”

“Of course, little one,” and he strokes her hair for another moment before closing the door and coming back to Steve.


End file.
